Sipping Whiskey in a Shallow Grave (31 page)

Bill puffed on the cigar while he unhaltered their spent horses. Even without halters, the horses just stood there. Bill clicked his tongue and slapped the appaloosa. The tired animals took a few steps. Bill waved his arms at them, but they didn't go anywhere.

“Wish we had some bacon,” Granger lamented. He was going through their saddle bags looking for extra rope. But of course they had emptied out almost everything to make room for wads of cash.

“The tie strings — just use those,” Bill said pointedly.

“Oh, yeah,” Granger muttered and drew his knife.

He patted around in the dark until he found one of the tie strings on Vincent's saddle. Granger cut it off and threaded it through the gullet, then tied it around Vincent's wrists. The man was still out and made no noise, not even a groan. Granger tested his inertness by twisting Vincent's fingers several times while Bill wasn't looking. It was too dark to really see anyway, but he was worried Bill might notice. Granger heard the knuckles pop a bit, but Vincent did not react.

Since Bill was still trying to shoo their tired horses, Granger decided to wiggle off Vincent's turquoise ring. He had always fancied it. It took some jimmying and another knuckle pop, but he got it off and put it in his pocket for later.

 

Chapter 18

Hay Ranch

South Park

 

Laura Blancett put on a thick black shawl. Her ears and nose were cold. She wore thick wool socks and did not make a sound as she shuffled down the hallway. Til was out with the horses, as were the McGonkin brothers. Walker was still sound asleep.

Til had built a small bedroom just for his son, and when Walker discovered he would have his own room he couldn't believe it. Til kept ruffling his hair whenever he stood by his son. It pleased Laura to see her husband and son under the same roof again. Back in Muscatine, Iowa, surrounded by cornfields and low wooded hills, they had lived in a nice home. But it did not have separate rooms, just one big one. They did string curtains up for walls, but it only afforded a minor sense of privacy.

Laura decided the boy could use some extra rest after their long trip. Besides, there was no rush. Soon she would assign him chores to do every morning. Routines were important to Laura, especially as a mother. Children were apt to distraction and lazing about. She intended to instill a strong constitution in Walker. She wanted him to be responsible, considerate, and a strong leader like his father. But that could wait for another day or so. Today he would get to sleep in. In his own room.

On the trip out, Walker had been delighted by the trains. He loved the way the whole car rocked back and forth with the rails. More than once she woke up from a nap to see him inching up and down the aisleway…arms stretched out, like he was on a tightrope in a circus. When the train would throw him around, he would laugh like nothing was funnier. She tried not to scold him too much — boys needed to be boys. But several times he got tossed off balance and ran right into another passenger. It was not deliberate, she knew, but he always seemed to run right into the same white-haired old man who was constantly napping.

The man's eyelids fluttered, and he would sit up sharply and glare. By then, Walker was right back on his tightrope, giggling. Now that she thought about it, it probably
had
been deliberate. There was a healthy measure of mischief in that little boy. She was interested to see how far he pressed that mischief now that he had a father in his life again.

“Ma'am.”

Emmanuel was sitting at the table sipping coffee in the shadows. He got to his feet when she came in the room. The sun was not above the horizon yet, although the sky was blue as a robin's egg. Laura smiled at him and motioned for him to stay seated — but he got up any way.

“Get some hot tea fo' ya?” he asked.

“Oh, coffee is perfect and I can fetch it myself, Emmanuel.”

She was feeling good and enjoying the peaceful morning.

“You're a fine cook and a gentleman, but don't you feel like you have to jump up for me.”

Not knowing what else to do, Emmanuel chuckled a little awkwardly and eased back into his chair. The large windows were open and let the morning air right in. The grass was green and waving and somewhere on the rooftop birds were whistling away. Laura went looking for coffee in the kitchen, then came back and sat down.

“Well there they go…hoss feedin' time,” commented Emmanuel.

They could see the corral outside and all the horses circling and nipping at each other. Rufe came into sight with a burlap sack and a tin cup, reaching through the rails to dump scoops of grain into the feed troughs. The horses fought a bit, and the dominant ones were the first to eat. Rufe continued to dump scoops as he walked the fenceline.

“You was out east?”

“Muscatine. Right on the Mississippi,” Laura said. “Going to miss those sunsets. The sun reflects right off the water, and you can see every color imaginable.”

“If the clouds are thick up above, such as aft'uh a good rain, we get some real good sunsets. Like the Good Lo'd paint the sky with oranges.”

Emmanuel shifted in his chair and kept blowing across his coffee. He would clear his throat after every sip. Laura could tell he was still uncomfortable with her — and being a basic stranger was no help. She knew most of these cowboys weren't used to company, but she felt a deep desire to make everyone there easy with her presence. This was her home now. And theirs, too, for as long as they would stay on.

“Where are you from, Emmanuel?”

He cleared his throat again and nodded thoughtfully.

“Been doin' cow work for quite some time,” he said. “A'fore that, I was soldierin' down in Fort Concho.”

“Where's Fort Concho?”

“Down in Texas, ma'am. I was with the 9th…‘A' Company,” he said proudly. “Cavalry.”

He took a sip and glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Mrs. Blancett's blonde hair stood out brightly against her black shawl. She was friendly, and he appreciated the effort she was making. He found she was easy to speak with, which helped.

Emmanuel himself had been married once. But that was a long time ago and only for a short time. She died of small pox before they could have any children. It had been too short a time to get very comfortable speaking with ladyfolk. Soldiering and cowboying did not afford too many opportunities, after that.

“Muscatine. Never been there muh'self.”

“Til came west a few years ago. Right about then a brand new business opened in town — making pearl buttons.”

Emmanuel pointed at his shirt. It had large pearl buttons.

“Like these?”

“That's right. The boats bring in clams from the river. I would punch out buttons, straight from the shells.”

Emmanuel grinned again. The sky was getting lighter every moment. He knew the sun was right behind the ridge now, about to pop up.

“I best get some eggs a-fryin'. Crew be coming inside soon.” He pretended to tip a hat since he was not wearing one. “Ma'am, many thanks fo' the first rate con-vo-sation.”

The cook disappeared into the dim kitchen. Even though it was hard to see in there, Emmanuel knew right where everything was. The woodstove had been going since 5 AM, and eggs would only take a moment. He liked to cook eggs. The coop was out back, and there were a dozen hens in it. They put out a good number of eggs every day. The idea of ranch life took some getting used to, but it was starting to sink in. There was a nice woodstove to cook on. He would not work out of a tiny chuckwagon anymore. He wouldn't need to set up and tear down a potrack every night.

Emmanuel took a bowl and went out back to collect some of those fresh eggs.

 

Chapter 19

Whale Mine

 

“I do hate chickens!” LG complained. Feathers were floating all around him. They were sticking to his shirt and hat. He sucked one in as he talked and began sputtering.

John stood at the hen house door with a small wicker basket in his hand. He watched LG sputter. John had two bruised eyes and a cloth bandage wrapped all the way around his forehead. The bandage was so thick he could not get his hat on. His hair poked up above it.

“Here, John-boy,” LG called and tossed an egg towards him. The young man came out of his trance and hustled to catch the egg safely.

“Better run them up to Greasy Belly. He's one crabby ki-yote,” LG told him. “And best walk light since you botched it yesterday. He may do you harm for averting your skinnin' duties.”

“But I had a busted forehead!” John-boy replied, worried the cook would be mad. “Cow near raked my scalp off. That should be cause for exemption.”

LG stepped out of the hen house and brushed the feathers from his sleeves.

“Now, don't get too close if he's got a skillet in his hand. Or a rolling pin. He had a rolling pin yesterday. Just set them eggs down and get gaited.”

John-boy turned and hustled up towards the cookhouse. He slipped on a pine cone and lost an egg. It dropped and broke. But the boy kept trotting along until he disappeared inside the building. LG watched him go and chuckled.

It had been wise to sign on at the Whale — he had to get out of the backcountry. Being alone for weeks on end was hard on anyone, but it was especially hard on LG because he liked to be around people. He liked chatting with folks.

The moment Specter whinnied in the darkness LG knew it was all or nothing. It had been the tensest moment of his life…and survival was the only thing on his mind. After those men wrecked, he had a decision to make. He could have kept riding into Boulder. There might have been safety in such a public area. But it was also the middle of the night. The town would have been asleep, and LG didn't know Boulder all that well. The men chasing him may have known it better, caught up, and cornered him in some side street.

Going off trail had its own risks, of course. He could have run into underbrush too thick to get through. Or ridden into a box canyon — or right off a craggy bluff and broke his neck. But Specter proved to be a good night horse. LG was pleased with the horse's trail sense, but not his sense to keep quiet. But that was just a horse being a horse. Horses were herd animals after all and did not like being separated. It was just instinct to whinny when he heard another horse coming down the stage road. Unfortunately, it was also the worst possible moment.

To be safe, LG had avoided any burgs or settlements. If he saw chimney smoke or smelter smoke or campfire smoke, LG gave it a wide berth. People talk. And if his pursuers had any tracking sense, they might trail him right into some small encampment and find out what they needed from some conversation-starved miner.

The Whale had its own fair share of roughs. Being an isolated mine, with nothing to do but drink, LG had already seen some death since he hired on. That very week, a couple fellows drank too much and threatened Cassius himself. They pointed their guns right at him. Cassius backed down…long enough to go get his own guns and enlist some help.

Cassius told everyone he planned on taking the men down to the Fairplay jail in the morning. They locked the two men in the cookhouse storeroom. But sometime in the night, they were led out, lynched outside of camp and buried in the rocks. Maybe the jail talk was just for show. Maybe Cassius ordered the lynching, LG didn't know. The fact was he didn't know any of these people.

LG knew it was
possible
the stage robbers had picked up his trail — but after all this time it was unlikely. He had a good head start and made all kinds of loops in the woods. He even cut back over his own trail more than once. And now here he was, collecting eggs and milking wild cows at the Whale Mine in Weston Pass…giving some poor sucker a hard time for getting his head kicked in.
 

It was time to move on. Either back down to the plains, maybe Denver, or else up to the bigger mining towns. He would like some news about the B-Cross. He didn't know what happened after he lit out. LG suspected the crew was shot dead. There had been at least a half-dozen robbers. The boys were spread out with the cow line — if they had been together they could have made a fight out of it. LG himself managed to shoot that fellow off the stagecoach, but there was a lot of gunfire that day, and got chased off before he could see what was going on.

 

Chapter 20

Yellow Houses Pasture

Headquarters

XIT Ranch

Texas

 

When AG Boyce announced he was fired, BH “Barbeque” Campbell's entire face became red and veiny.

“I
just
bought several thousand head, Yellow Houses and Spring Lake pastures are packed…and you aim to fire half the XIT?”
 

Barbeque Campbell stood right up in Boyce's face. George Findlay was sitting in the buckboard watching solemnly. AL Matlock had a shotgun cradled in his arms.

Campbell was wearing a gun — but Boyce was unarmed. That had been a point of contention between Matlock and Boyce: Boyce refused to wear a gun. He had been a Colonel in the Army and hadn't worn a gun for several years now that the Indian threat was basically over. Boyce believed force of presence would be enough to keep things from escalating on the XIT. He served in the War and had no intention of pointing a firearm at another American in peace time. Boyce saw too much of that in the 60′s and the years that followed. However, Mr. Matlock did not feel the same. And since Matlock had been the one to examine the conditions of the XIT firsthand, he knew words alone would not be enough for men like Barbeque Campbell.

It was late in the day, but there was still a lot of branding going on at the corrals. They could easily hear the bawling cattle. Lee and Davis got out of the wagon and moved behind Campbell. They had their gunbelts on, too — but no one was pointing a weapon at anybody yet.